The Child That Sherlock Loved
by sherotterlocked
Summary: John wasn't sure what he expected when he saw Sherlock again but this was definitely not it. It was a sight that was so absurd that it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. Sherlock Holmes had just come back to life- with a child. Parentlock (Hamish) fic leading to eventual johnlock. T because I am paranoid.
1. The Child

So this was it then, the actual Sherlock Holmes. The man beneath the hat as the papers would say. He hadn't seen him for ten months. Ten months. Ten months of waiting for his best friend to return. And here he was, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, sitting in his chair with his new born baby on his lap, in floods of heartbroken tears.

He had said nothing, just knocked on the door and walked in. John knew nothing except that the child was definitely his child, anyone could see that the starting blue eyes and soft brown curls were inherited from his father. But the mother? No one knew. It was as if Sherlock had disappeared for ten months and then just come back in a cloud of grey sadness. It almost broke John's heart to see his friend like this, but there was nothing he could do, so he sat by the warm fire and listened to the endless crackles of sound it made.

John finally had to say something when Sherlock broke. The man just burst into tears and hugged the eerily silent baby as if it was a lifeline.

"Sherlock, please tell me what happened, where you where, what you... did." There was silence for a while. "Please, Sherlock."

Not looking up, Sherlock sobbed into his coat, his death randomly clenching his collar as if he was trying to hold back tears.

"I... I.. met a ... Woman... " He choked out. "She was amazing, brilliant, fantastic. She.. was... She was.. So I .. I went away for a few months... Where no one would find us... And.. We had a baby.."

It killed John to see the pain in Sherlock s eyes as he said the next bit. Especially as he could guess the answer.

"She... She died after childbirth... Of exhaustion.. She died holding him...She...She.. " Sherlock couldn't say anymore.

Never had John seen anyone as hurt as Sherlock that day and he never would. Sherlock had lost his soul mate, the one who made him happy, the one he loved.

"How did you decide to have a child in ten months, Sherlock?" John said after a while.

The man's sadness had now reached its extreme. There were no tears now, just a paralysed face contorted by pain. Somehow he spoke:

"I... met her three years ago.. Sometimes.. Sometimes they weren't cases I went on."

That was all. John could think of nothing to say so he got up and made some tea for Sherlock. Tea that he would never drink. It would go cold like the corpse of the only woman Sherlock would ever love.


	2. Some answers and some questions

John did not know what to do. Sherlock hadn't spoken (or moved) for five hours and the baby was still lying in his arms. Sherlock looked like a living corpse, a shadow of his former self. His eyes were looking at nothing, just empty space, and looked like a empty wasteland. John was trying, really trying, to think of something to say or do, but nothing came. Still, as a doctor, he knew that the baby needed milk but he did not have the heart to take the child out of Sherlock s arms.

"We were going to get married, John." Said a low empty voice that was so unlike the Sherlock he knew that John had to check it was him. "We even bought a house, a nice house in the South Downs, for Hamish to grow up in."

_Hamish_. The Child was called Hamish. After him? His middle name was Hamish, but who would want to name something after him?

"I named him, John. I named him so when ever I saw him, I would be reminded of the life that I had left behind."

Dear God Sherlock had been planning to leave his job, his life , London? This woman must have been pretty special.

"I hope you don't mind, John."

"How could I mind, Sherlock?"

Yes, how could he mind? How could he disagree with his best friend who had just lost his... his ... what? Wife? Finance? Girl friend?

"We were going to get married in May." Said Sherlock, who always knew what he was thinking. "You... were invited, John, you and her friend Natalie. That was all."

"Oh." The answer sounded blunt but what was he supposed to say? Thank you for inviting me to the wedding that would never be held? I'm sorry that it won't happen?

Sherlock started to stroke the child's (NO, Hamish, the child was called Hamish) hair. It covered the boys head in a thin curly layer much like some new born children John had seen.

"Do you think, Sherlock, that he needs some food?" John had to say it - if the baby starved John didn't think he would ever see Sherlock again.

The answer was a slight nod of the head followed by Sherlock slowly getting up. John knew before he said it that there was no milk in the house.

There never was.


	3. Greg Lestrade and the hospital bed

Three days later, John went out shopping for more milk. Sherlock was still living like a ghost, saying nothing, eating little and never sleeping. His whole being seemed to be consumed in pain. Little Hamish was small and quiet, John had only been woken up once by his crying. John worried constantly.

The shop was heaving and people were bustling round as if they were on a mission to save the world. Twice, John was almost knocked over. But still, John kept shopping, he had two people to look after at home and he would let neither one of them become ill or malnourished. In fact, John was still in a daze when he walked out, almost completely ignoring the voice that called out for him;

"John! John it's Greg!"

John turned around to see Lestrade's face (which looked slightly worried) staring back at him.

"John are you ok? How's the search going?"

The search. They had both been searching for Sherlock for months, sometimes not sleeping for days or weeks. Lestrade had been the first person he called when he found that Sherlock wasn't in the flat.

"He came back, Greg." John said, in a very sincere voice.

"What?" Sherlock may call Lestrade an idiot, but he could read emotions pretty well. "Oh my God.. Oh my... Is he ok?"

"He came back with a baby, his I believe."

This news was met with some coughs and splutters of surprise.

"A baby? Sherlock with a baby?

"Yes. But.. Don't get too excited, Greg. I believe that he was about to get married.. But.. She died. She died, Greg. The only woman who Sherlock has ever loved died." John was fighting back tears now too. "And.. And I need help, Greg.. Because I think Sherlock is going to die too and we can't lose him again.. Not again."

"Oh God." Said Lestrade. "Look I'm coming back to Baker Street now, Ok? We can and we will make Sherlock better. We will."

John nodded and they got in a cab, where he explained Sherlock s current state. The mood in the cab grew darker the more he said.

John opened the door as quietly as he could and led Lestrade in. Sherlock had not moved from his chair, and was still deathly pale. The baby was in his arms, but seemed to have been forgotten by his father. Carefully, John lifted the child and said:

"Ok Sherlock, Sherlock? I have bought Greg here, Greg Lestrade, you know , Scotland Yard? We are going to make you better, Sherlock. You are not going to sit here and waste away whilst I watch, Ok? You will eat. You will drink. You will be there to look after your son. Please Sherlock, I know it's hard, I know, but your wife wouldn't want this, she would want you to move on and face the world. Please, Sherlock."

The man didn't answer, he just starred out of the window at the dust dancing around. Greg followed John into the kitchen and whispered quietly;

"You should phone.. I don't know, someone who could help. He can't just sit there all day. He needs help."

They both turned their heads to look at Sherlock, who still had not moved. His skin was so pale it seemed translucent. Suddenly, out of no where Sherlock spoke;

"Im sorry, John."

The man passed out five seconds later.

The ambulance was called, it came, they took Sherlock, they left. It all happened so fast that John barely had time to think. Him and Greg followed the ambulance closely in a cab, hoping that Sherlock would be ok. Hamish was cradled in John's arms, sleeping.

The hospital bed was cold and the ceiling fan wasn't helping. Sherlock wanted to close his eyes and not wake up, ever, because for once he had seen a happy future, a safe future, and it had been ripped from him. His poor, dear, darling wife. He had (no, he still did) loved her because she had not known who he was. She expected nothing from him and he loved her for it. A world without her was one that he did not want to live in. Nothing great should be there without her, no flowers should bloom because their beauty had reflected from her and now.. And now... No one even knew her was a gravestone people walked past. She was nothing. Nothing except the one woman who made him happy. But now she was nothing. No more. A memory that could be forgotten. Nothing could change that now. The wheel turns round, nothing is ever new. Sherlock was alone again.


	4. Dead or alive?

**Ok, I am just going to start by saying I am sorry that these chapters are short, but I write in short little bursts and then stop for a while. I to update as Often as possible! Lastly, thank you for the reviews so far I am glad to hear that some people are enjoying this!**

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How much time had passed Sherlock did not know. All he knew was that his mission was succeeding, he was slowly wasting away, the doctors had almost given up hope. Every time they plugged their wires or valves into his ghostly body, he ripped them away, not letting a single nutrient or drop of medicine into his body. He wanted to see his wife again, he wanted to die and to be with her. No one could change that.

John walked into the silent hospital room expecting the worse. In his hands was the little Hamish, wrapped up in blankets to keep warm. Looking over at the bed, John was almost sick. This was not Sherlock, the wise consulting detective that he had grown to love. He wasn't even sure it was a man. What he saw in front of him was a skeleton. A white, deflated skeleton that had given up on life. Sherlock, his best friend, was going to die. He would never see his son grow up, become a teenager, then a man. He would die and be buried in the ground. And this time.. This time there would be no empty hearse.

"Oh God Sherlock, please, please don't do this." Said a completely heartbroken voice that somehow was John's.

"I have to." His answer surprised everyone, including himself. His voice was hollow and empty of emotion, but dulled with sadness.

"Please, Sherlock. If not for me, do it for Hamish. He is your son, Sherlock. Don't you want to see him grow up? Please, Sherlock, I don't care what you do afterwards, just do this for him. Not me. Not Lestrade. Not even your brother. Do it for him."

A single, lonely tear made a path down Sherlock s face. He could say nothing. John stood there completely distraught and he could do nothing. Say nothing. He could live, but surely he was too far gone by now.

"He is your son, Sherlock." Whispered John.

With a weak, feeble and shaky Sherlock pushed a wire back into his arm. Maybe, just maybe, he could live to see his sons first birthday. He sighed as the cool liquid filled into his veins and was asleep in a second.

A wave of relief rushed over John like a tsunami. He held Hamish close and breathed in his soft baby smells. Maybe Sherlock would be ok now, well, not ok, better. Better. _Alive_. He would someday be Sherlock Holmes again, and that day may be far off in the distance, so far that it is impossible to see right now, but it will come. One day, John thought, one day, I will see him smile and the world will dawn a better place, but for now, he would have to wait, he was a long way off that day right now.


	5. Home!

**Hi! Sorry I update at random times but I try to update at least once a week! Please review, they have been so helpful so far! **

**Enjoy!**

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Three weeks later, with heavy rain drumming against the window, Sherlock woke up from a long sleep feeling considerably better than before. Hundreds of wires still clung to his pale arms, but he now welcomed the sweet liquid that poured into his tired veins. He was feeling better physically, not entirely mentally yet, and suddenly longed for home. Home, where John and his baby were. For the first time in weeks, when the doctor walked in, Sherlock looked up and said;

"When can I go home?"

The doctor looked surprised at this and checked his clip board, ticking off some boxes before he spoke.

"Well, you came in here originally because of poor health. No eating and sleeping caused your body to completely shut down. But now.. You seem better, your heart is ok, so are all your vitals. Maybe a few more days just to make sure your body is fully ready, then you can probably go home. "

A few more days. In a few more days he could see his son again. He couldn't believe that he had missed the first few weeks of his boy's life. He was an awful parent and an awful friend. He had run home having a mental breakdown, dumped a baby on his best friend and passed out. Yeah. No wonder everyone left him in the end.

* * *

Sherlock was ready to leave the hospital four days later. He sat patiently on his hospital bed for John to arrive. He wondered if John had forgiven him yet- for everything that Sherlock had done in the past few days. The clock in front of him slowly ticked round. One... Two... Three... Where are you John? Ten... Eleven... Twelve... The door handle clicked open and the small figure of John Watson appeared, holding a small bundle of cloth in his arms.

_Hamish_.

There was no smile on the consulting detectives face when his son was put in his arms. How could there be? He was a rubbish father to a son who had no mother.

_Oh God not again. No. Don't think of her. _

A single year rolled down his cheek. but the would not let it turn into a flood. He promised himself that he would keep it together and not break down again . He couldn't. John stood in a military like pose, straight and tall, looking at Sherlock. His face wasn't happy or sad, but maybe, maybe a little disappointed? Without a word Sherlock looked at his beautiful son. He had his mother's face, quite round but slightly long from him. He already had subtle cheekbones (from him, probably, but maybe his mother) and a soft down of curly hair. His hair was dark brown but Sherlock suspected that it would turn almost black, like his mother's. Then Sherlock looked into his child's eyes. His beautiful, greeny blue eyes that shined with life. There was nothing in the world that could have stopped the tear rolling down Sherlock s cheek and onto the baby's hand.

"Sherlock, you know I'm not angry, right?" Asked John.

Sherlock looked up. John was still standing in the same position. Sherlock shook his head.

"I'm not Sherlock, you know I'm not."

Sherlock shook his head.

"Can I go home, John." His voice was so soft that Sherlock almost pitied himself.

Almost.

"Yes of course, come on now, let's go."

With that, John put his hand on Sherlock s shoulder to help him rise, and set off outside.


	6. Sherlock who?

**Thank you to everyone who has liked this or just read it! I am amazed at the amount of people who have viewed this! Please tell me how I can improve my writing and I am sorry that I update at random times! Thank you and enjoy!**

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If Sherlock bothered to turn his head to look out of the window he would see the sun rise. But why would he bother? He used to watch the sun rise with his wife, but now she was gone and he didn't want to see another sunrise without Holmes, a man who had one lived, now existed. He was a shadow of his former self, sinking into the life of endless tea and crap telly.

He didn't even bother to correct the television anymore.

In Sherlock s arms was Hamish, asleep thankfully. He was beautiful, like his mother, Sherlock just wished that she was there to see him.

"Sherlock? Sherlock you're going to get up today ok?" Said John, starting Sherlock. When had he got in the room? "Sherlock please listen to me. I know it's hard, ok? I know you would rather sit here all day and mourn but I highly doubt that your wife, however she was, would want this."

Sherlock suddenly looked up. Someone, anyone, John, had to know who she was. She couldn't be an unknown grave in the middle of a graveyard that nobody saw. She couldn't. Looking down he said;

"Her name was... Imogen. She was beautiful. Her eyes shone like glass, her hair was shiny and black."

John looked confused.

"Why are you telling me this, Sherlock?"

"Just let me finish, John, ok? Will you do this for me please? Her name was Imogen, as I said. When she laughed, the world lit up. I loved her, John, I loved her because she was clever and she didn't know it. I loved her because she didn't mind where or how I spent my days. I loved her,John, because she had no idea who I was. She had never heard of Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective that no body liked. She loved me even though she didn't know me at all. She never asked and now she will never know." Sherlock was stopping himself from crying at this point. "She trusted me. In the end that was the only thing that mattered."

John was silent. What could he say? What the hell could he say to make this better?

"Would you like to go and see her?" Was all he could think of.

Sherlock nodded and got up shaking. Hiding the tears was useless now and he didn't stop crying for the whole taxi drive.

* * *

There were some people at the grave. Two women. One had blond hair and blue eyes, the other had ginger hair. They turned as they heard the footsteps coming their way, giving Sherlock a shaky smile. The blond one opened her arms and walked into Sherlock, who hugged her back.

"Oh Sherlock, I'm so so sorry. " She said.

Sherlock could say nothing so he just nodded and walked out of her arms. Placing some flowers at the grave, he stood up and motioned to John.

"This is my best friend, John Watson." He spurted out quickly, his face full of new and refreshed pain.

John shook their hands.

"Hi, I'm Natalie," Said the blond girl, "my friend is called Kate. We.. We were Imogen s friends."

John nodded and stared at Sherlock, who was looking down at the grave, biting his lip.

"How come we have never heard of you?" Said Natalie. "I mean, we just thought that Sherlock had moved from abroad and that all his friend were over there..."

John was confused for a moment, before he remembered that Sherlock had wanted to leave his past behind him, to protect Hamish and Imogen.

"I never came from abroad," said Sherlock. "I... Have a very dangerous job..."

The Two girls looked shocked.

"But I could never tell Immy, it... Could have got her involved and I did not want that. My job includes chasing criminals with guns, murders and death. They last thing I wanted for her to do is see what I have seen or do what I have done."

"So she never knew?" Asked Kate.

"No... I never wanted her to. She didn't ask. She wasn't curious, remember?" Said Sherlock, fighting back tears. "If you want to learn more, look me up, I am surprised you haven't before. Just, when you have, please remember the man you think you know, and see him as me. We aren't as different as people think." At this point, Sherlock finally looked away, to the church.

John thought about this, looking at Sherlock through the girls eyes. A man they thought they knew, who they trusted with their best friend, suddenly turning out to be... What? They didn't know he was the good guy. For all they knew he was a master criminal.

"He's a detective, girls, a consulting detective, the only one in the world." John said, not looking into their eyes but at the grave, weirdly wondering if the woman under it could hear his words. Of course not. Ghosts don't exist. "He's a good man."

He ment this to be for the girls, but he wanted Imogen to hear him, even if she was dead. That was a stupid thought, she couldn't hear him. She never would.

"Oh." Said Natalie, interrupting his thoughts, "so... You solve crimes then Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded. " Please I don't want to talk about this, if you want to know just read John's blog. It's all online, my whole other life."

Sherlock turned to John with pleading eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Please. I want to go home now, John. " He said.

John nodded, said goodbye to the girls and took Sherlock home.

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**Thank you for reading this chapter please review or tell me how I can improve!**


	7. Smile for a while

**Hi! Sorry I haven't updated in a while but thank you so much to everyone who liked or favourited this fic! And thank you for the reviews!**

**This chapter references to the Sherlock Holmes story 'The Sussex Vampire', I don't own Sherlock and thank you for reading!**

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For a millisecond Sherlock smiled. Only for a millisecond, but if John had paused time at that very moment, he would have seen it. His eyes lit up and sparkled in the evening sun, just as they had always used to before. John didn't care that now the vacant, empty look in his eyes had returned, he just cared that for one moment, he had seen his friend happy again, the way he should be.

It was three months later, and Hamish had been crawling (and falling) around the flat for the first time. He learned quickly. When Sherlock thought John wasn't looking he picked up his tiny son and threw him in the air, catching him in his long lanky arms. That was the moment when he finally smiled, when he forgot about his sadness for a while and let himself go. Just for a second. A small, simple second.

* * *

The next day Sherlock returned to his chair, sitting with his fingers tapping away at the keyboard of his computer.

"John?..." He asked. It was his first word in days "John...JOHN!"

John rushed in hoping Sherlock wasn't killing himself , or about today blow up the apartment.

"Yes Sherlock?" He asked, scanning his eyes around the room checking for dangers.

"John I'm bored!"

What? Months of endless silence and now this? He was bored?

"Uh, sorry, what?" Said John, hoping he had heard right.

"I'm bored John! Get me a case! Scotland Yard need me!"

Rude, arrogant, boastful. Yep, Sherlock was back.

* * *

With a slightly dazed expression Sherlock strolled into the New Scotland Yard building, fiddling with his coat as he walked. He felt slightly sick, all the familiar faces who would ask him where he had been, would be here. He looked around as he walked through the doors.

"John, I'm scared." He said.

"Why?" John asked, though he knew the answer already.

"What if they ask? What if they... They want to know where I have been?"

"Don't worry I'm sure that Lestrade-"

John stopped talking as Sherlock s fingers laced around his. The tall man said nothing and just looked ahead at the front desk.

"Sherlock what-" John started to ask but Sherlock interrupted.

"I need something to hold onto right now John, just, please, I will let go when they come but..."

"Ok, Sherlock I understand." Said John, but still he felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

They stood there for a while, holding hands, saying nothing and waiting. Sherlock was going slightly pale, and his eyes were scanning the hall for Lestrade to appear. After a while Sherlock heard heavy footsteps approaching them and slid his hand away. He didn't want to take his hand away, John's hand had felt strong and comforting, but he didn't want to embarrass John, especially now when he needed him.

"Hi, boys!" Said Lestrade as he rounded the corner. "How are feeling?"

The question was directed at Sherlock but John answered anyway;

"We're good, thanks Lestrade."

"Ok, right so this case, we're all baffled." Continued the detective inspector.

"I bet you are..." Muttered Sherlock under his breath. John elbowed Sherlock and gave him a warning look.

"Yes we are." Said Lestrade. "Shall I give you the details now or on the train?"

"The train. Come on, we should be able to catch one, where are we going ?" Said Sherlock

"Sussex."

With that, the three men walked out of the building and onto the busy London street below.

* * *

"Right," Lestrade started "this morning we received a message from a man called Mr. Robert Ferguson. He seemed pretty distressed. Apparently he thinks his wife is a vampire."

He let that sink in for a while then continued;

"I know, I know, but it's a pretty serious case. Last week he woke up to scream and ran downstairs to see his wife at the neck of their young baby, he then-"

Sherlock interrupted, " how old was the baby?"

"Nine weeks I think. Anyway, it happened again last night and he noticed two small pin pricks on the infants neck and then the child threw up repeatedly for an hour."

His story seemed to finish there so Sherlock placed his hands in his thinking position and stared outside for a while.

"Does this mean have any hobbies?" He asked.

"He has an interest in the Indians and their weapons. Has quite a collection I hear."

Sherlock nodded and was silent for the rest of the ride.

* * *

They walked into the house at around noon. It was quite an old house, sixteenth century according to Sherlock. On the walls were hundreds of spears, darts and other weapons John couldn't even name.

Some hobby.

Sherlock walked away to look around and left John and Lestrade standing in the hallway.

"Where's the baby?" Lestrade finally asked.

"Mrs Hudson said she would look after him. She seemed pretty excited that Sherlock was talking again after... You know." John looked at his feet.

"Yeah I know. So why now, after weeks of silence. What did he do? Get up and go?"

"I don't know, he was fiddling with his computer for a while and then called me and asked for a case. "

Lestrade looked like he wanted to ask more but was stopped when Sally walked in. She looked confused when she saw John so walked over.

"So is freak here now? What's the matter with him?" She said.

"Don't you know? His wife's bloody dead that's what!" John was almost shouting now so half the police men who were there spat out their tea in shock.

"The freak has a wife!" Sally said.

"Had. What, didn't Lestrade tell you?"

"I thought he was joking!" Said Sally.

"Well he wasn't." Said a sad voice behind John. "Case closed I'll explain on the train."

Never had Sherlock sounded so small in his life and this time when he offered John his hand, he took it instantly.

* * *

It was a long time before Sherlock spoke. He listened to the rattling of the train against the rails and tapped his fingers on the table waiting for someone to ask. When they didn't he said it anyway.

"The baby was poisoned by the darts on the wall, the wife was sucking the poison out through holes in his neck but some was still in his system and he was sick. She said nothing to the husband because, as you failed to mention Lestrade, she doesn't speak a word of English. There. Case closed. Now take me home I need to see my son."

He wouldn't speak for a long time.

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**Sorry for sloppy ending but thanks for reading and please review! They make me smile!**


	8. The mistake

**Hi sorry this is a short chapter, and probably sounds a bit rushed, but it needs to be there for the while plot line that I have planned. Thank you to everyone who has followed or favourited this fic! Please review they make me smile and help me improve! I am also sorry about my random update times... I write when I can !**

**Thank you for reading I hope you enjoy!**

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Four months later John found himself lying in his chair in Baker Street, hoping that Sherlock would come back soon. They had had an argument (well, Sherlock had sat there and John had shouted at him) about Hamish. Sherlock was neglecting him more and more everyday. Each day he sat in his seat and stared at nothing until the sun set and he went to bed. Every day. Hamish now was crawling around the apartment like a manic, completely oblivious to the row, and giggling about nothing. When he went to Sherlock he would be ignored and John was getting sick of it.

Anyway, John sat in his chair hoping the phone would ring soon. The minute Sherlock had walked out he had felt guilty. The man was grieving for heavens sake! Who was he to say what Sherlock did or did not do? John was in his own little world when the phone rang and he almost didn't hear it.

"Hello, John?" It wasn't Sherlock, but Lestrade.

"Oh, hi Greg, have you seen Sherlock?"

"As a matter of fact that is why I am calling you, he is here at the station."

"Oh God, what has he done?" John said, starting to worry.

"Its not what he has done, but what he hasn't- he hasn't spoken yet. Is he ok?"

"I... Don't know... We had a fight..." John choked out the last part.

"Oh God what about?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"Hamish. Look, I'm coming to get him, ok?" Said John, wanting to changed the subject, "I'll be there in about twenty minutes just make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

With that, John hung up the phone, with guilt hanging over him like a cloud.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the waiting room twiddling his thumbs together and biting his lip till it bled. He knew John was right, that he was being a bad father, but what was he supposed to do? Move on with his life? Maybe one day, but not right now.

* * *

John walked into the police station half an hour traffic had been terrible so he had decided to walk, but twisted his ankle in the process. Also, it was raining. This day, so far, had been complete shit and was probably about to get a whole lot worse.

The consulting detective s body was hunched over and his collar was blocking the view of his face. From the unsteady breaths John could see that he was trying to hold back tears, which only made him feel worse. He had had a million things to say to Sherlock when he saw him, but only a few simple words came out;

"I'm so so sorry."

The thing that happened next was unexpected. Sherlock stood up, looked into John's eyes and hugged him. It lasted a while because Sherlock didn't seem to want to let go. He cried a little and then whispered quietly into John's ear.

"No I'm sorry. Can we please just forget about this?"

"Of course" John said with a secret sigh of relief, "it's forgotten."

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**Thanks for reading this chapter! I am thinking of changing the name of this fic- can you think of any suggestions? **

**I hope you enjoyed!**


	9. The Codebreaker

**Hello! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVELY REVIEWS AND LIKES! They made my day!**

**Anyway, I hope you like this chapter it took hours for me to think up the case! Please tell me if I can improve on anything or if you liked it!**

**Enjoy!**

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Sherlock's phone beeped, signalling that he had received a text. Should he pick it up? Hmmmmmm...

It had been nine months and Hamish was now almost a year old. Sherlock, as ever, was sitting in his chair thinking. He had been on one or two cases since the last one, but only to occupy his great mind. He got bored otherwise.

His phone beeped again and Sherlock considered getting up to read it but decided he couldn't be bothered. He could, on the other hand, be bothered to get up and make himself some tea. He was British for crying out loud; refusing tea was almost unheard of. Downstairs he heard John walking in so decided to go ahead and make him a cup too, it was the least he could do after all that John had done for him.

* * *

For the last few months John had been a saint. Sherlock knew that even if he lived a thousand lives he would never deserve him. Through thick and thin John had been there when no one else had. He had fed him, held him when he had a sudden attack of pain, shouted at him when he needed to be shouted at. Yes John Watson was amazing. Brilliant, even. Maybe one day he would see him smile.

* * *

John walked in the second that Sherlock had finished the tea. The cups were hot and a plumage of smoke drifted out like mini ghosts. John smiled a 'thank you' before taking his mug. Almost instantly his face fell. Sherlock jarred, his body suddenly went stiff. There was nothing wrong with the tea, but the maker. He had forgotten. The tea in John's mug wasn't his, but Imogen s. The way she always took her tea before she...

_Died._

John stared at the tea for a while. The steam evaporated around him making his face seem wet, but he didn't care.

"Sherlock." He said quietly. "Sherlock don't disappear again. Dont. Just don't. Listen to me now Sherlock, listen now. You are going to forget this, do you hear me? Forget it. And you are going to solve a case,ok? Any case. Small, big, boring or not, ok. Just forget this. Don't leave again and waste your life in that chair. Please just forget this."

Sherlock looked at the small man infront of him, who was so close to tears that he could see them making his eyes shine. He was shivering as if he was cold.

But he wasn't cold.

He was scared.

Sherlock's phone beeped again and this time he did not hesitate to pick it up. On it were three texts from an unknown number. They read;

**Hello, just too let you know, my darling old best friend is having a fun party, are you you coming?**

**I would like to think that just maybe it's (if you like) time for us (maybe) to get together and play?**

**Third Star on the right and straight on till morning!**

Sherlock stood there for a while wondering what on earth they ment, was it a code or simply a wrong number? He was interrupted in his thoughts by John;

"Sherlock are you ok?"

Sherlock turned his head and smiled. "Oh, what? Yeah. I'm fine."

John looked at his tea, which was going cold now. He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock s phone then put the mug down, secretly thanking whoever had sent those messages because Sherlock seemed to have forgotten what had happened, well, momentary at least.

"Ok, Sherlock, I'm going to my room and then I'll take Hamish out, call me if you need me, ok?"

Sherlock nodded and slumped in his chair and stared at his phone for hours, in such deep concentration that even when Hamish wailed at the top of his voice, the man didn't stir.

* * *

Three days later, Sherlock got it. It was code, of course it was, but...

But he didn't understand it entirely.

"John?" He called. "John! Can you look something up for me?"

John walked in looking confused.

"Look up what? Sherlock are you ok?"

"Yes John I'm on a case!" Sherlock said. "Now, go onto Google." John nodded and did this. "Ok, type in the following words: Movie, Third Star, main character s name." Sherlock waited. "Anything yet?"

John nodded, not really caring why Sherlock wanted to know this, but secretly buzzing that Sherlock finally seemed to be back. He finished typing and looked at the screen.

"The main character is called James, but is referred to by his friends as Jim. It is about-"

Sherlock cut him off, "NO! NOT AGAIN! NO NO NO WHY? "

John stood up. "What, Sherlock? What's happened?"

"Its him, John!" Sherlock was almost white now, shaking like a leaf. "No not again!"

Oh God. Him. It could only mean one man. One, life ruining man. Of course it could only be-

"Moriarty." John whispered. "But how do you know?"

"The texts, John. It was code. The first one for example; Hello, just too let you know, my darling old best friend is having a fun party, are you you coming? Uses every other word, starting with the first to create the message 'Hello too you my old friend, having fun are you?'"

John relaxed slightly. "That could be a coincidence, Sherlock."

"The universe is rarely ever so lazy. Now look at the second text, ' I would like to think that just maybe it's (if you like) time for us (maybe) to get together and play?' It uses the first word, misses three then uses the next one then misses three in that pattern. So it creates the message 'I think it's time to play', who else could it be,John?"

Now John was scared too, but still there was a small chance that Sherlock was fantasizing about nothing. "What about that last one?"

"I was stuck on this one for ages, John. I thought it was code but it was a clue. 'Third star on the right and straight on till morning', it ment nothing to me. But then I thought, maybe the person who sent me these was giving me a name. There is a film called Third Star, it is named after that quote. I thought maybe that the person was telling me to meet them at the place where this film is set, but... Then it struck me. The main characters name is Jim."

He was silent for a while.

"Jim Moriarty is back, John. He's coming to get me."

* * *

**I hope you liked this and understood the codes! They took ages I hope they made sense!**

**THANK YOU!**


	10. Want to play?

**Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews and all who have liked or favourited this fic! YOU ARE ALL AMAZING! I hope you are all enjoying this and please please please give a minute to review, they make my day.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, it references to the film 'Third Star' starring Benedict Cumberbatch so I hope you like it!**

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* * *

Hamish was three years old when the first case came. The first Moriarty case that is. It was raining heavily outside and John was out at work. He was always at work now, it was annoying. Sherlock was standing up by the window after having fed Hamish, slowly getting bored. His violin was having a repair so he couldn't play it, Hamish was asleep so he couldn't play with him either. There was nothing to do! It was so dull!

_Ping!_

Finally! A text! It must be from Lestrade, please be from Lestrade, be a case! He opened the message, it was an unknown number:

**Want to play?**

Suddenly the house seemed too silent, the street too quiet. Sherlock felt his heart pump in his chest when he ran into Hamishes room. Somehow he knew what he would find before he walked in.

Nothing.

* * *

With a sick feeling in his mouth, Sherlock ran into the street, his legs feeling like jelly.

He hailed a cab, without knowing where he wanted to go, and then received another text from an unknown number.

**Oh come on, that was too easy! I must say, I'm slightly disappointed in you, Sherlock.**

Sherlock must have looked pretty sick, because the cabbie turned around and asked him if he was ok. No, no he wasn't ok. His hands were shaking so hard he found it hard to text back a reply. With his heart beating so fast he managed to send a text back.

**Where is he? WHERE IS MY SON?**

He soon got a reply:

**Oh, Sherlock, telling you would be playing fair, and where is the fun in that?**

He felt like throwing the phone out of the window, but that would help no one. Instead, he turned to the cabbie and Said;

"Take me to Scotland Yard, I'll play extra if you can do it quickly."

* * *

Sherlock walked into Lestrade s office, slamming the door behind him. Lucky, there was no one there except the rather surprised DCI, who was eating a doughnut.

"Well hello to you." Lestrade said, "and what brings you here? And why the obvious rush? And-"

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock shouted. "Just shut up now! I need your help. Please. Please help me."

Lestrade had never seen the detective so broken since the day he had walked in with a new born baby in his arms.

"Oh God what..." He said quietly.

"It's Hamish..." Said Sherlock, almost crying. The sick feeling he had was gnawing at his stomach, leaving a huge hole where his son should have been. "He's... Gone."

Lestrade was silent for a while. He knew how much that boy ment to Sherlock and how important he was to keep the detective alive.

"How do you know he isn't just hiding?" Lestrade asked.

In answer Sherlock showed him the phone, making Lestrade go almost as white as him. Everyone knew how dangerous Moriarty was, everyone feared him. He was like a nightmare that you never forget, always lurking in the shadows.

"Any clues? Has he contacted you before? He always leaves a clue. Always." Asked Lestrade.

Sherlock jumped up from his chair. "That's it! Yes he has! Oh my..." He turned to Lestrade. "We need to get to Barafundle Bay right now!"

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later, now get John and go!"

* * *

Two hours later, Sherlock, John and Lestrade were all sitting in a car, on their way to the bay. They had all been silent until now, except when Sherlock told John what had happened. Suddenly Sherlock spoke;

"Do you really not know why we are going to the Bay?"

The Two men shook their heads.

"John?" Sherlock looked at John to see if he would think about it a bit more, "remember the other texts?"

John nodded. "But how is that helpful?"

"The last one was a quote, remember? _Third Star on the right and straight on till morning. _It was from that film, the one with the actor that looked like me? Third Star? It was about some men going to a beach. The beach we are going to right now."

Lestrade nodded. "Right... I see... I think.."

Sherlock bit his lip. Nothing had ever felt this important, ever. He had to save his son. "I hope I'm right."

* * *

After a short boat trip, they walked until they got to the Bay. The second that the beach was in sight, Sherlock received another text;

**Oh that's good! Well done, I must say I'm impressed!**

Sherlock looked away from his phone and onto the beach. A harsh wind blew, cutting through his coat and seeping into his bones. Poor Hamish, he was only wearing his pyjamas.

"There's no one here..." Said John rather dejectedly.

It was true, they were the only souls for miles. Sherlock choked back a sob as he saw the empty beach. But he had to be right! He had to be!

"Oh, really, the audience wasn't needed, Sherlock." Said a Irish voice behind them.

The trio turned around to see Moriarty holding Hamish like a rag doll. He was wearing a cream suit and an evil smile. The suit was splattered with blood.

"But I guess it will be more fun this way." He continued.

In half a second three guns were pointing at him, and Moriarty dropped Hamish to the floor. He fell like a rock and there was no life in his eyes.

"No..." Sherlock shook out, he couldn't help it.

"Oh dear, my friend. I thought you had no heart? Are you turning into... I dread to say it... An angel?"

John and Lestrade looked confused but Sherlock knew what it ment. It was ment to trick him and Sherlock couldn't let that happen.

"Oh your getting WAY to sentimental my friend." Continued Moriarty.

They all clicked their guns, ready to fire.

"Oh I wouldn't do that if I were you." Sighed Moriarty. "Because if you do then all your friends will die. Mycroft will die, Mrs Hudson will die, Hamish will die." He shrugged, "and I'm sure none of you want that to happen."

With that he kicked Hamish in the head, making Sherlock wince, and sauntered off, with his hands in his pockets. No one tried to follow him, there was no point.

The minute the small Irish man had disappeared over the crest of the hill, Sherlock ran to his unconscious son and cradled him in his arms. He sobbed allowed, no longer caring who heard him.

"Call an ambulance! Get a move on and call an ambulance!" He cried.

Sherlock stroked the blood soaked hair on his sons head and tried to stay calm. He had a pulse, but it was faint and getting fainter. He couldn't cope with him dying too, not another death. Not like Imogen. He couldn't go and leave Sherlock alone again. He had to stay alive. Lestrade walked off to find signal, leaving Sherlock, John and Hamish on the hill. The small boy shivered in the cold.

"Why does everyone leave, John?" He asked.

"They don't, Sherlock." Replied John. "I'm still here, Lestrade is still here, and so is Hamish. We're all still here."

"But it wasn't supposed to be like this! It was supposed to be happy and safe! This wasn't ment to happen! I can't live like this anymore."

"No! No Sherlock you are NOT leaving again. You WILL stay and look after your son. You will."

Sherlock looked up at John. The kind, caring John. But why did he care so much? It wasn't as if he had done anything to deserve it.

"Why do you care so much, John?" He asked.

"Because I have too." John said, looking up at the cloudy sky where an air ambulance was hovering above their heads. "I always have."

* * *

**I'm sorry about my sloppy rushed writing but I hoped you enjoyed this! PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Thank you all!**


	11. I always have

**This is a very short chapter (again sorry) but I thought that I would publish it to see if you liked it! THANK YOU for all the amazing reviews I have received and please keep telling me what you think of this!**

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* * *

_I always have..._

It haunted Sherlock's dreams that night. Those three words. They circled round his head in a never ending merry-go-round of mist. But what did they mean? Those three words that could mean nothing yet everything at the same time. Those three words that Sherlock hoped were true, and dreaded that they weren't.

* * *

Hamish was fine now. Of course, his injuries were impressive: one huge jagged scar that stretched from one shoulder to another, a brain bleed that would heal, multiple bruises on his back- but he was safe now, lying in the hospital bed beside his father. He hadn't spoken yet and it would be a long time till he did. A very long time. But he was safe and dry, the hospital was being watched by Mycroft s men and the doctors said he should make a full recovery. Should.

The night was long, and it seemed longer when Sherlock was constantly on the verge of sleep. He sat in a chair by his bed, but was otherwise alone in the room. John had gone to get coffee and Lestrade had had to go back to work. Hamish was asleep, hooked up to many machines, but he looked peaceful. For some reason Sherlock took a photo of his injured son, lying peacefully in his bed. Maybe it was because when he slept, it reminded him of his wife, who was probably sleeping in a similar position now.

John walked in holding two cups of steaming coffee. Sherlock was awake and muttered under his breath.

"I always have..." Before he turned to John. "What does it mean?"

"Nothing. Just something that I said. It doesn't matter." Said John, quietly.

"It matters to me, John, please tell me."

"I don't think I should."

"John?" Said Sherlock, almost whispering.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"A long time ago, the day we met, I said something, do you remember what I said?"

"You said a lot of things, Sherlock."

"But one thing I said has changed now, do you know what that is?" In answer John shook his head. "But, that doesn't matter now I guess."

John was confused now. "So what was the point in you saying that?"

"There is a point for everything, my dear Watson. I just want to know one thing, one thing, and you have to give me a straight answer."

"Ummm... Ok, what?"

"How much do you love me?"

There was silence for a while. To Sherlock it seemed that you could cut the air with a knife. The darkness around the men seemed to get darker and thicker like ink the more time passed.

"Quite a bloody lot." Said a small voice, John's, after a while. "Too much, sometimes."

Now it was Sherlock s turn to stay silent. He had no idea what to say. This is what he had wanted, wasn't it? But what could he say? I love you too? No. Instead he just said very quietly;

"Ok."

Because that, at this very moment, seemed to be the only thing good enough to say.

* * *

**Sorry it was short and probably sounds rushed but please tell me if you liked it! Thank you for reading!**


	12. How much do you love me?

**Hello everyone! Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, favourited or followed this! Each one makes my day! Please keep reviewing, I love reading them!**

**Also I must apologize for a) the random update times and b) some spell check mistakes in a few of the chapters. I write each chapter on kindle notes so it sometimes changes words when I'm not looking!**

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* * *

_How much do you love me?_

Where had that come from? Where had Sherlock worked it out from? He had been so careful in hiding it, in fear of hurting his friend. But, still, he had seen it. And anyway, why had John replied like that? Sherlock didn't have to know, he could have lied and it would all be fine. But temptation has lured him in and he had had to find out if Sherlock had felt the same. He still wasn't sure if he did...

Sherlock was now sitting by the hospital bed in complete silence. He had not reacted at all to John's answer. Maybe he had suspected it. Is that really how obvious it had been? Did everyone know about it? John suspected not, Sherlock was a detective after all, but...

But...

He still wanted to know. The answer. John sat watching Sherlock, waiting for something to happen. Nothing happened. The sky outside turned a beautiful lilac colour, with brilliant streaks of Orange painted over it. Small rays of sunlight danced into the room and shone on the two men and Hamish through the strips hospital curtains.

"So what do we do know?" Said Sherlock, without moving. It was as if he was talking to himself. John waited a while before answering.

"Nothing. We go home and live life as we always have. The same old routine. We ignore this and pretend it never happened."

"But I don't want to." Was Sherlock s reply.

"Why Sherlock? I can't replace your wife!" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Sherlock's eyes went shiny the way they always did when someone mentioned her. He felt sick but didn't know why. Why was everything so difficult! Why couldn't he be happy? Why couldn't he move on?

"Can't we just?... I don't know. Just..." Sherlock closed his eyes. "I want to move on,John. I can't stay forever in the bottomless hole that She made. I loved her and will always love her, but if life is worth living it is worth living well. And I don't want to spend the rest of my life trapped in misery. That is a waste." He breathed heavily and fought back a few tears that were threatening to make an appearance. "So can't I move on?"

"Yes, of course you can move on, Sherlock. But it is your decision, not mine." Was John's reply.

"Ok."

* * *

Hamish woke up a few hours later, his back stung and he didn't like it. When he looked around he saw an unfamiliar room that was obviously in a hospital somewhere. He also saw his father and John taking in hushed voices, looking deeply into each others eyes.

"Father?" He said quietly, "are the bad men gone now?"

The bad men had really scared him. They had come into his room with big guns which they had put against his temple. He could still feel the cold metal against the head as if it were actually there. Then they had laughed and put some cloth against his mouth. That was all he could remember, apart from pain.

A whole lot of pain.

Sherlock got up and touched his forehead, stroking the soft curls on his head. His eyes were full of pain, as if he could feel all of his sons. Maybe he could.

"Yes. Yes they have. I'm so sorry. " He said, biting back tears, "I'm such a bad father. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there to protect you."

The boys eyes went wide, not wanting to see his father like this. He loved him so much, and he wanted him to know it.

"That's ok father. I'm sure...That mummy would be proud."

Hamish didn't know who 'mummy' was, except that his father loved her. She had gone, apparently, to a 'better place."'. Every time father mentioned her he went really quiet and sometimes cried, just as he was doing now.

"Yes... I'm sure she would," Sherlock said through tears "be very proud. I'm very proud of you, Hamish, you are a very brave boy." Sherlock kissed Hamishes head and smiled through wet tears. "You are a very brave boy."

* * *

A few hours later the police man, who father called Lestrade, came in. He was holding some coffee for the grown-ups and a carton of juice for Hamish. He smiled at him and ruffled his hair before turning to John and Sherlock.

"Hi guys, how are you?" He said.

"We're good, Greg," said John. "Any work?"

'Work' usually ment Hamish being given to Mrs Hudson and the two men running off somewhere. Hamish had been allowed to a few cases and they had been fun. He had even helped solve one, but father didn't like taking him to some because John said that they would 'scar him for life'. Father once said that when he was older he could come to all of them. Hamish looked forward to that day.

"No, sorry." Replied Lestrade. "How is Hamish?"

All three men turned to Hamish before Sherlock spoke,

"Good. I think. A scar on his back and a few cracked ribs. Also a brain bleed, but nothing too serious. You're feeling ok arent you, Hamish?"

Hamish nodded. "Yes... I think so..."

Lestrade smiled and ruffled his hair. Hamish giggled, which made him a bit dizzy but he didn't show it.

"Anyway I came in here to ask you something, " Said Lestrade "Right, so the hospital is surrounded by press. I'm sorry but word has leaked out about your sons kidnapping, Sherlock, and... Well... You're Sherlock Holmes, everyone wants to know."

Lestrade looked a bit sad by this. Maybe he didn't want this to happen, John had told him that all of their closest friends didn't like fame because it hurt people.

It had hurt him, anyway.

John straightened up and looked out of the window. His eyes widened.

"Holy shiiii." He stopped himself when he saw Hamish. "That's a lot of cameras."

Sherlock looked and then seemed to think for a while. He knew the press, relentless, intrusive and could stop them.

"I don't know what to say, Lestrade. I mean... Hamish what do you think? Would you let some strange people interview you?"

"Would they hurt me?" Asked Hamish, as he dreaded that again.

"Actually I have a feeling they might help. Word would leak out, people will be more aware and maybe even try to stop things like this happening again. I don't know. John?"

John thought for a while. "He is your son, Sherlock."

"Our son." Sherlock corrected , making the whole room gasp. Before anyone could say anything Sherlock continued, "just send one camera and an interviewer in, ok Lestrade?"

Lestrade walked out in a daze, and kept opening his mouth and then closing it again. Hamish turned his head to John.

"Can I call you daddy now?" He asked, he had always wanted to.

"I don't know, 'Mich," Replied John, he sometimes used a nickname for Hamish, "I'm a bit confused right now." He turned to Sherlock, who was standing completely still.

"If you want him too, John. I want him to grow up in a happy environment and keeping stuff like this all bundled up inside you might... I don't know... Make it a bit... Tense?" He looked at John "I mean... Only if you want."

Hamish wasn't really sure what was going on, so asked, " so are you and father together now?"

There was silence for a while. There seemed to be a lot of that these days.

"Maybe, Hamish, maybe. But not a word about it to the press,they already suspect it lets leave it at that." Said his father, who had a small smile dancing on his lips. "Now be a good boy for the press, they will be here in three... Two.. One..."

The door opened very slowly and Hamish prepared himself for a long few hours.

* * *

**Sorry bad ending! But please review to tell me if you liked this!**

**Thank you!**


	13. The interview

**Hello! Again with the random update times, I am very sorry! ALSO wow thank you to these amazing people who reviewed and everyone who liked and favourited this fic! You all make my day!**

**DetectiveSilence- thank you for your reviews! The last quote is from Peter Pan but changed for the film I think. I used it to name the film because otherwise I couldn't see how Sherlock could have worked it out! Thank you so much for you amazing reviews, they made my day!**

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You** are all amazing! Please review I am sorry if you don't like this chapter!**

* * *

"Hello Hamish, my name is Elisa and I will be interviewing you today." Said the curly haired reporter.

Hamish looked at the woman, who obviously thought that this was her First Big Break. Her hair was recently done, still warm, in fact, from the curlers and hairdryer. That ment that she thought that she had to look good for something, this probably. Hamish had already seen her check her phone three times, a clear sign that she was waiting for something, a text. This ment that she was anxious for something and judging by the tiny flecks of smudged mascara under her eyes she had been crying. A break up? Yes, she kept fiddling with a necklace around her neck which was too expensive to be bought by herself (so a gift) and too modern and brand new to be from family. So a boyfriend then. Mascara, smudged, a breakup. Recently otherwise she would have washed it off. Phone, checking for a 'Im sorry' text, she wasn't the one who broke up. New hair, she is trying to cover all this up and has decided that her career is more important than her boyfriend. Hamish smiled, he was just like his father.

"Hello, Miss, I am sorry about your recent break-up. But you are right, your career is more important." Said Hamish, innocently.

Elisa looked shocked, but then smiled. "Wow, you are just like your father, arent you? Which reminds me, how is your father?" She turned to Sherlock, who was now standing up very still and giving her a cold glare. The camera turned to Sherlock, very close, before he spoke.

"I don't care for your stupid little interview, but if you must know I am very good". He said.

"And how is Hamish?" She asked, to no one in particular.

"Hamish is good." Mocked Hamish, in a slightly sarcastic tone. "Hamish is well."

Elisa just smiled and carried on with the interview. Her microphone was held to Hamishes face as she asked;

"And would you like to tell us the story?"

That depends on whether you are going to treat me like a baby, Hamish thought.

"Umm..." He looked into the camera. "Big scary men drugged me and beat me up." He saw Sherlock wince. "And then put me in the boot of a car too Bar- Barfu..."

"Barafundle." Said Sherlock, saving his son.

"Yeah that bay. And then they dragged me up the hill where I was left until the small Irish man came."

"Jim Moriarty." Said Elisa, in a very serious tone. "What happened next?"

"He got me by the neck and we waited till Father, Dad- I mean John and Lestrade came and saved me." Said Hamish. Had he blown the whole 'father-and-john-getting-toghether-is-a-secret' thing? He hoped not.

Elisa smiled. Oh she had noticed, now she was not only going to get a slot in tonight's news, but all the tabloids and gossip magazines as well. Everyone wanted to know about these two men and their son. Everyone.

"Oh. So how badly does it hurt and how do you think parents can prevent this from happening to their children?" She said, pretending that she hadn't noticed his little 'slip up'.

Hamish she noticed? Hard to read, he was only three and she was a very good liar.

"It hurts a lot. I didn't know if I was going to make it, but everyone here is so nice." Cover up lies with the truth, that's what father always said. The only truth there being about the pain, of course. "And I don't think anyone needs to worry about Moriarty. He won't be interested in normal human beings."

Elisa laughed. "I see your father in you! Now, are there any parting words that you might like to say if Moriarty is watching?"

Hamish thought for a while, knowing whatever he said here would probably be the most featured part of this interview;

"Ok... If you are watching I would like you to know that I am alive and getting better. You harmed me, but you did not kill me. You will never kill me. And, in your very own words, when I am older I will find you and I will skin you. I will skin you, James Moriarty, for what you have done to my family." He paused. "And you deserve every second of the pain it causes you."

"Ok... Well thank you, Hamish, I am sure you will be on many screens tonight!" She turned to the camera. "This is Elisa Collins reporting for BBC news, thank you."

The camera stopped rolling and Elisa started to walk out of the room, starring at John and Sherlock as she left.

The door closed and Hamish stared at his parents forlornly.

"Im sorry, she knows doesn't she?" He said.

"It doesn't matter. In fact it is probably better they knew, otherwise they would follow us till they did." Said his father, stroking his head.

"It's okay, 'Mich, they were going to find out anyway." Said John, who was now proud to be called Daddy by the son of the Worlds Only Consulting Detective, and now his boyfriend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**So? Did you like this? Please tell me how I can improve in a review. I will update this a.s.a.p but I have school so I can't say when! Thank you!**


	14. Mycroft Holmes

**Hello! Thank you again to all the amazing people who have liked, favourited or followed this story! I LOVE YOU ALL! Also thank you to everyone for coping with my strange and random update times- I write when I get an idea otherwise the story sounds bland and dull...**

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* * *

The press are odd people. They spend their lives following others, determined to seek out their secrets, when really they should be worried about their own. In this small crowd Hamish could already see six recent or happening divorces, two affairs, a sick wife and so many other troubles that Hamish found it surprising that they were here at all. Three microphones were shoved in his face the second he stepped out of the hospital;

"This is Sky news,how are you feeling after your dreadful experience?"

"The Times, what do you think about your parents relationship?"

"The Daily Mail, are you under any threat of another kidnapping?"

"Why do you care?" Was his only reply. John nudged him a bit. They had agreed that if Hamish was nice, Sherlock would show him some more cases. Hamish was already learning to love the mystery that surrounded his parents jobs. He sighed. "I am good." He said eventually.

The press continued to flash cameras at him and his parents whilst they shoved their way through the crowd. It took a while, but they eventually managed to get into a taxi that was waiting for them.

"You ok, Hamish?" Said his father.

Hamish nodded. "Can I have a case now?"

The Two men chuckled and Sherlock chucked his phone to his son, which he instantly started to read. He was good at reading, father had taught him. Like his father, he sloved the case before they even got home.

* * *

"So what have you taught him?" Asked Mycroft, who had come to visit.

"Why do you care, brother dear?" Said Sherlock, in an annoyed tone.

"I am interested in my nephews welfare." Replied Mycroft, ignoring the looks his brother gave him. "And would like to know if he is going to follow in his father's footsteps."

Sherlock closed his eyes and pretend not to hear. "Seen Lestrade recently?"

Mycroft looked surprised. "That is none of your business, Sherlock. Now, how and were is my nephew?"

At that moment Hamish walked in, holding two cups of tea and looking immensely proud of himself. "Here you go father and Uncle. I made it myself!"

Sherlock grinned at his son."Well done, did Daddy teach you that?"

Hamish nodded. "When will Daddy be home?"

"Soon, Hamish, soon."

"Daddy?" Asked Mycroft. He was aware of John and Sherlock s current 'arrangement' but was still a little surprised at the little boy who had accepted it so easily.

"Yes Mycroft. So he doesn't confuse us if he needs us. Why do you care?" Said Sherlock, annoyed again.

"I don't. Just asking, dear brother. Anyway, would you please answer my simple question: what has Hamish learnt?"

"Everything he needs to know."

"And that is?" Mycroft didn't really care anymore, but wasn't going to give up.

"Primary school stuff. He is clever, maybe even a genius, like me. " Said Sherlock, arrogant as ever.

"He is three years old, Sherlock!" Cried Mycroft.

"There is always more to learn."

From downstairs Mycroft heard the door open. Hamish ran downstairs shouting:

"Daddy! Daddy! I made tea for father and Uncle Mycroft!"

John walked in and waved at Mycroft. "Hi, Mycroft, how are you?"

Finally, some manners in this place. Mycroft smiled, "not bad John. Bad day at work then?"

"How did you- in fact I don't want to know." He ruffled Hamishes hair and walked out to change his clothes.

"So..." Said Mycroft, when he was sure that John couldn't hear. "How is he?"

"How is who?" Asked Sherlock.

"You know who I mean."

Sherlock nodded. "John is fine, great, brilliant, fantastic. " He paused. No words could describe John, none were great enough, worthy enough to stand next to his name."He is amazing. In fact, dear brother, he has saved my life so many times that I am unable to count them. I love him."

Mycroft smiled, "and what of Imogen?"

Sherlock winced at her name. It drowned his in guilt every time he heard it. Would she like it? Him and John? Would she be happy for him? No, Sherlock, don't cry. Crying is a weakness. A weakness linked to sentiment. And what is sentiment, Sherlock? A chemical defect found in the losing side. Now, think of something else, that new case Lestrade gave you... Oh wait...

"And what about you and Lestrade?" Said Sherlock, changing the subject completely. He couldn't talk about her right now, it was too private. A matter only him and John could discuss. Where no one would judge him if he cried.

"What about it?" Said Mycroft, annoyed at the change in conversation.

"I would like to know how how you acquired his number and how, when Moriarty threatened us, it was with Mrs Hudson, Hamish and you, Mycroft. And we all know how much I love my brother." Said Sherlock, smirking.

"Oh give over, Sherlock, you have John." Said Mycroft.

"Who has me?" Asked John, walking into the room. It had got messier than when he had left this morning. Neither Hamish nor Sherlock tidied up, just left the room in 'organised chaos' as they called it.

Sherlock turned to John and smiled. "Me."

"Oh." Said John, who hadn't really come to terms with that fact yet. He was still expecting to wake up.

"Anyway, I don't care who you see, or what you do, Mycroft, but please, make sure he still has time for cases."

"The what now?" John was confused.

"Mycroft and Lestrade. Something going on." Replied Sherlock.

"There is nothing going on!" Said Mycroft, obviously lying.

"Oh..." Said John, again.

"Anyway, I have to leave. Important secret business to attend to." Said Mycroft.

"MI6?" Asked Sherlock.

Mycroft smirked at his brother and nodded his head at John before walking out. The second he closed the door Sherlock sank in his chair and shut his eyes tightly. A loud groan escaped his lips before John walked over.

"You ok, Sherlock?" Said John.

"I don't know, John. " He said sadly, "I really don't know."

* * *

A few nights later Sherlock was sitting by the fire when he suddenly turned to John and said;

"We can't send him to school, John."

"What? What? I asked you if you had eaten! Not... Anyway I suppose I may ask; Why?"

"John. He is our son. He is clever. He is like me. He could learn so much more if he went on cases with us instead of wasting his life in a classroom. I have taught him most of the primary school stuff. He can read and write. And, as the papers said, his speech is immaculate." He paused. "And... A primary school would be one of the easiest places to kidnap a child of mine. I can't see him hurt again John. I can't."

John stood confused for a while then asked, "and where did that come from?"

"Hamish today. I was teaching him to play the violin-"

"That explains the noise." John interrupted.

"- and he asked when he would be going to school." Sherlock said, ignoring John. "And that made me think about him going to school. I'm worried John. What if he gets hurt again? I can't lose him John!"

"Sherlock, Hamish is three. School starts at five. By that time I'm sure that he will know everything on the syllabus, at the rate he's learning. And anyway, school is very important." Said John, trying to stop Sherlock from going into his dark world which was full of worry. "Youre an amazing father. Why dont we wait and let him make a decision?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yeah... Ok." His eyes were still sad, but John let him be for a while. It was for the best sometimes, like when people set off mini avalanches to prevent the massive ones, let him mourn for a while to stop Sherlock going away again. Sherlock Holmes was an amazing man, but once an idea was planted in his head he would let it grow. John was sure that he would hear about school again very soon.

* * *

**Thank you for reading- I hoped you liked this chapter, but please tell me if there are any ways that I can improve! Thank you! **


	15. America

**Hello! I'm sorry this chapter took a while, but thank you so so much to everyone for all the amazing reviews, and to all the people who have liked or favourited this! Please please review, they make my day! Again sorry if you don't like this chapter and about the random update times!**

** Love you all!**

* * *

Sherlock put down the phone and sighed. What was he going to do? Looking down the hall he could see Hamish lying in his bed, with John taking his temperature using a thermometer. He couldn't leave them but... But this was a huge, huge case. He couldn't just turn it down. He couldn't.

"John." He called quietly, knowing that Hamish had a really bad headache. "John could you come here please?"

There was a slight shuffle from Hamishes room as the Doctor got up. He smiled at Sherlock. "Yes?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, "umm... I have been asked to go on a case."

John frowned. "Yes, and?"

"It's umm... It's in America."

John looked surprised. "Oh. Ok. Wow. Right. Big case?"

Sherlock nodded. "But I can't take it, John."

"Why?" Said John.

"Because I can't leave you! Hamish is ill, and I can't leave you alone, I can't -"

Whatever Sherlock was about to say was stopped by John kissing his lips. Sherlock smiled, John always knew what to do. He was always there for . If Sherlock could pause time forever, he would choose that moment, because at that moment he felt complete. He wished that it had lasted longer, but the good things in life are the things that you miss. And Sherlock defiantly missed this.

"Sherlock, you need a break. Take the case." Said John after a while. "I don't mind, ok?"

Sherlock nodded then kissed John again. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. But if you really want 'Mitch and I can come when he is better, ok? I'm sure Mycroft can sort something out." John smiled, probably from the kiss, but also from the fact that Sherlock was finally doing something again.

"Ok... If your sure."

John smiled. "When do you leave?"

"Nine tonight."

John raised his eyebrows a bit. "Oh. Ok then. " Then he kissed Sherlock and walked back to Hamish.

Well, that had gone better than expected, thought Sherlock, as he went to pack his bag. A lot better...

* * *

A few stars had started to appear in the early gloam of the sky. Sherlock, John and Hamish all stood on the empty runway, waiting by the empty plane. Sherlock smiled, his face was slightly illuminated in the early evening light.

"So... I'll see you soon, ok?" Said Sherlock.

"Yes, very soon." Said John, leaning forward so that he could kiss Sherlock. "Try not to kill anyone when I'm away."

Sherlock smiled. "And why would I do that?" Before kissing John one last time ( for a little longer than necessary) and hugging Hamish. He turned his back to stop them from seeing his tears that were threatening to emerge. Before he boarded the plane, he looked up, and all he could see were three swallows dancing in the orange-blue sky, flying amongst the stars.

* * *

"Hi, sir, are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" Said a tall man, wearing a suit.

"Yes." Said Sherlock, shaking the man's hand. "Dont worry, I'm not going to shoot you, so you can take that gun out of your pocket."

The man looked surprised. "That gun was hidden, Mr Holmes."

"Yes, I know, I was looking for it."

"Were you looking for anything else, sir?" He said, slightly annoyed.

"No. But I can tell you that you went on a walk with your dog this morning. An over excited German Shepherd, probably. You walked in a park if I am correct. Also, your wife smokes, you hate it but love her so you can't tell her. I'd tell her, you know, smoking damages your health." Said Sherlock, saying the last line sarcastically.

"How the hell did you know that, sir?"

Sherlock was liking being called sir, as if he had an authority over the man. He hated explaining his deductions, even ones as simple as this,but did it anyway. "To start with: your dog. On your suit are two paw prints, so light that you can hardly see them, but I noticed them. I notice everything. This tells me you have a large dog- large enough to jump up to your chest- and the black and ginger hairs on you show that it could have been a German Shepherd, probably is a German Shepherd. Statistically more likely. The mud shows you walked in a park, not on a pavement- or a sidewalk as you Americans say. And your wife, I can smell smoke on you, but you don't smoke. No children either, so it has to be your wife. You don't like it, you have tired to cover the smell up with a deodorant that is advertised for its strength. You love her, your wedding ring is shiny even though it is older than ten years, you take care of it. You love her."

The man held his mouth open for a while whilst Sherlock listed off a few more deductions; "You had salad for lunch, bake your own bread, play the trumpet, want a child, had your appendix out when you were seven, like reading and running." Sherlock smiled, it was all so obvious.

The man sneered at Sherlock, before getting on his phone. "Yes he is here." He said. "I know. I know." Sherlock smiled, knowing that he had annoyed the man. Annoying people was fun, Sherlock enjoyed it.

Soon a black BMW rolled into the airport, which Sherlock got in. He flipped his phone up, no new messages.

"So..." He said. "What is my case?"

The man sitting next to him frowned. "Sir, I can't tell you that."

"Why?"

"It's a matter of national importance, Sir, classified. I do not have the information."

Sherlock nodded, pretending that he knew nothing. Of course, he had already figured out the case. Stolen letters of 'national importance' apparently. Probably held by some evil person. Child's play of course, but when you have met Moriarty everything seems simple.

"Ok." He said, before closing his eyes and pretending to sleep. He needed to think.

* * *

**Hope you all liked! PLEASE leave a review! Thank you for reading!**


	16. You are all idiots

**Hi! Sorry this chapter took a while- I have been really tired recently and dont want to publish something that isn't halfway decent. However, I really would like to know what you guys think of this fic so please, please, please review!**

**Also, this chapter is set in America. I don't live in America (I live in England) so please tell me if I got anything wrong for future reference!**

**Lastly, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this fic! You all make me smile! Thank you and enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock sighed as he walked out of the small house on the outskirts of Washington DC. It had been simple really, a lot like the Irene Adler case, only the criminal hadn't been nearly as clever. All it took was a fake gun and a British accent and he was out within the hour (ok, he wasn't sure about the accent, but it definitely helped). He sent a text to the Presidents Secretary, telling her that the case was closed, before walking to his car and getting in. He sighed, what a waste. It hadn't even been a murder. Maybe he could ask around and see if there were any cases worth his time. Yes; yes he would do that tomorrow. Sherlock looked at his watch and smiled a little, John and Hamish would have just woken up, he would call them when he got to the hotel.

As the car rolled up into the hotel's drive, Sherlock sighed. There were three police men standing outside the door, obviously for him. He got out and nodded at them.

"Hello sirs how may I help you?" He asked, trying to be polite like John said.

"We've got a case, Sir," One said. He had obviously just broken up with his girlfriend and was clearly very annoyed. "And we... Need your help." He choked out the last line.

"Of course." Replied Sherlock.

"What do you mean 'of course'" Another asked. This one was married happily with two children.

"I ment of course you need my help." Said Sherlock. This was fun, messing with the police. They obviously had little clue of who he was, judging by their reactions. "You always do."

"You?" Said the third one, unmarried.

"The police." Sherlock cleared up, pushing his collar up. "Now, anymore stupid questions or are you going to tell me about the case?"

The policemen looked slightly miffed but said anyway." There has been a murder, Sir." Sherlock didn't even bother to hide his excitement now. He jumped up and down shouting "yes!" before looking at the men's horrified faces and stopping.

"This is an extremely important matter, Sir." One said.

"I know, that's why you need me." Sherlock said, not caring about the reply he got anymore. "Now take me to this crime scene!" Then he walked off, pushing his coat collar up as he went.

* * *

The murder was simple really. Sherlock put it down as manslaughter (because it was) and blamed the boyfriend. When they asked why he simply told them; big breakup, angry, in a fit of anger he accidentally hit her over the head with a candle (the dust imprints showed him a candle had been removed five hours ago, but couldn't be found. It was hidden because it had bloodstains on.) Also, the boyfriend had recently disappeared. Clear sign of guilt.

So why were all the policemen and women acting as if he was a complete psychopath? It was like England all over again, before he had become reasonably good friends with Lestrade. He missed John as if he was missing half of his heart. He felt incomplete. He felt lonely. When he had been examining the body he had turned to ask for John's opinion but no one had been there to answer. He hid these feelings of course, he didn't want to ruin his reputation just yet.

"Hey, weirdo." Called one policemen. Personally Sherlock preferred 'freak' if they were going to insult him, but, no matter.

Sherlock turned and smiled. "Yes?"

"How come you just solved that whole murder in five minutes?"

"How come you are all idiots?" Was Sherlock's reply.

The man's face soured. "Its almost as if you did it."

"How could I when I have only been in this country five hours and have been on another case?" He paused. "God you are idiots, all of you." Before walking out of the scene and into the car waiting.

Inside the car he chuckled to himself, it really was like meeting Lestrade all over again.

* * *

"So: how is America?" Asked John, through the brilliance of Skype.

"They are all idiots here, John! It's so dull!" Replied Sherlock, admittedly a little too whiny.

"Don't worry we will be there soon."

"You will?"

"Yeah!" Shouted Hamish, who had just walked into the room. "Ha! Father you look small on the screen!"

Sherlock smiled at his son before continuing; "when will you be here?"

"About three tomorrow, do you have a case then?"

Sherlock thought for a while. "Hmm. I do have one, apparently, shall I text you the details? Oh and by the way, they are even more stupid than Lestrade."

John chuckled. "Yes I'm sure they are. Do they know about us?"

Sherlock winked. "I want to surprise them." Before yawning and saying goodbye. This time tomorrow, he thought, this time tomorrow I'll be with John at last.

* * *

The case was a simple one, just a robbery, but Sherlock was bored and anticipating the time when John and Hamish would arrive. He snapped at a few officers because they were idiots and paced a lot, setting everyone's nerves on edge.

"It's dust for God's sake!" He cried."Dust is eloquent!"

He paced around the room. "Cant you see? It's. So. Simple." He cried.

"Well it's certainly not simple to me." Said a small matter-of-fact voice that could only belong to one person. _John_.

Without thinking Sherlock ran up to John and kissed him. Everyone in the room gasped as they collided, but Sherlock heard nothing. How many times had he kissed John? Not enough times, that was for certain. He didn't realise how much he craved them until he got one, which only made him want them more. He wanted to freeze time so that this moment could last forever. He hugged John and John hugged him back, stealing one last kiss before returning back to the police.

"You see, but you do not observe." And with that, he walked out, leaving a mob of shocked police watching his path. One even dropped his coffee on the floor. The room was silent as John walked out.

Who knew sociopaths could be nice?

"Where is Hamish?" Sherlock asked, standing by the car. He was watching all the police talk about him. It was funny, watching the goldfish dance in his little show.

"He is actually in the car, idiot." Replied John, smiling.

Sherlock let John get away with that insult in excitement that his son bought him. Scooping Hamish out of the car, he laughed and threw his son in the air.

"Hello Father!" Hamish giggled. "We went in a plane!"

Sherlock laughed, "I know! Cool aren't they?"

Hamish nodded and pointed at the police. "They looked shocked, father. Have we done something to offend them?"

"No, just the opposite, my little man. I will show you tomorrow on a case, but for now I am tired."

He kissed John, hugged Hamish and opened the car door, waving goodbye at the shocked police . Until tomorrow, my friends, until tomorrow.

* * *

**Thank you all for reading! I will try to update asap! Please tell me what you thought of this! **

**THANK YOU!**


	17. Moving on

**Hello! I'm sorry again for the messy and unreliable update times but I thought this was a good way to end the chapter! More information will be at the bottom of the page, but I don't want to spoil anything! Please tell me if you like this in a review- I love reviews they make my day!**

**I would also like to give a HUGE HUGE thank you to: FaroreWorldshaper. Because you have left so many lovely reviews that make me smile!**

**I hope you all like this fic and thank you to everyone else who has reviewed/ favourited or followed this fic! I love you all!**

**Enjoy this chapter! :)**

* * *

The stars almost seemed to dance in the deep indigo sky that night. Each one was as perfect as a diamond, glittering like a thousand jewels. These stars, as beautiful as they were, still made Sherlock sad. They weren't his stars, the ones that shone over the London Skyline when you were lucky enough to have a clear night. They were foreign stars, someone else's stars. Sometimes, at night when John was asleep next to him, Sherlock would look up to see the night sky. Mostly always he was greeted with a purple glow with a hint of Orange, but sometimes he would see a star. It was at these times when he was most silent, when he was admiring something that could be dead, but lived on in the sky. In a way, stars lived forever, because the sky would show them for millions of years after they died, almost as if it was clutching for a final bit of beauty, a final memory that it didn't want to be torn away.

It took a while, but Sherlock finally realised that he wasn't thinking about the stars. He was thinking about Immy. He was like the sky, never wanting to let go, and Immy was a star. She burned bright and beautiful, but had to disappear eventually. Maybe, Sherlock thought, I should let go. I can't hold on to something forever once it's gone. Death is like that, a looming shadow over you that never really disappears. You had to let it go, allow yourself to mourn and then move on. How else would we, as a human race, survive?

He turned around, facing the bed with his sleeping son in. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, you could almost ignore the huge scar that was spread across his back. It looked as if he had had wings, but they had been torn off at one point. Like a fallen angel. Sherlock smiled as he thought of that. Night was one of his favourite times, it was so peaceful that you could think properly without anyone disturbing you. In the day everything is so busy, so loud, so bright, that finding a quiet space to think was very difficult. Maybe that was one of the reasons why he loved John, no one else would be quiet and respectful when he was thinking.

After staring at Hamish for a while, Sherlock turned to John. John, the man that loved him despite everything. The man who lived with 'the freak' and actually liked it. The man who flew all the way to America just to see him. The man Sherlock Loved and the Child That Sherlock Loved. They were both in his dreams that night, dancing amongst stars.

"When did you get a liking to the stars then, Sherlock?" John said, lying in bed, having just woken up.

"What?"

"Last night, you spent hours just looking up at the sky."

"You where awake?" Asked Sherlock, surprised. He could usually tell when John was asleep.

"For a while." Answered John. "You looked peaceful, almost happy. What were you thinking about?"

Sherlock was silent for a while. He couldn't tell John what he had thought last night, when he was alone. It was too private even for John. So instead, he covered the lies in the truth. Not the best tactic in the world, but only lies have detail.

"When we look up, some of the stars are dead. When we look at the sky we are really looking back in time, so the sky still shows them. I was just thinking about how weird and amazing that is." He replied.

"I thought that all information about space was useless?" Said John, making it a question.

"Immy told me, she... She was an expert in the stars... I haven't had time to delete it yet." Said Sherlock, making his face clear of emotion. Still, his voice cracked a tiny bit. John must have noticed and didn't ask any more questions.

The room was quiet until Hamish flew in, with his arms outstretched. He was smiling and babbling on about the police officers waiting outside. Before they knew what was happening, Sherlock and John were being pulled out of the room, all three grinning madly. John was still thinking about what Sherlock had said, but decided to think nothing of it. Something had obviously happened last night and it was private to Sherlock. If, one day, Sherlock decided that he would tell John what had gone on in his head that night, John would be happy to know. But for now, he was just happy to be with Sherlock again, enjoying the thrill of the Chase. Just like old times.

* * *

The police officers faces that day were amazing. All stared in amazement at John and Hamish, then looked at Sherlock as if he was glowing green and sprouting wings. John smiled to himself, these policemen had no clue. He secretly snapped a few pictures of their faces and sent them to Lestrade, knowing that he would find them hilarious too.

Sherlock, as always, was walking with a quick pace and authority, acting as if he owned the whole town. Staring at a police man with piercing blue/green eyes he Said;

"Are you going to give me the case or stand looking at my partner and son?"

The world 'partner' formed on the man's lips, and on everyone else's too (including John's). Strange looks were given to Hamish. As he had grown up, Hamishes face had become more round, with soft cheekbones. He had black curly hair that was always messy. And his eyes...

His eyes were as grey as a thunderstorm, piercing like his father's. Right now they stared at the officers like an eagle to its prey. Sometimes it was difficult to look at anything except those eyes, which were beautiful and large.

Sherlock smiled, he liked messing with people. "Ummm... The case?" He said, only politely because John was there.

"Oh, yes. It's.. It's not really for the child to see, Sir."

"Hamish is fine, I'm sure that he has seen much worse." Replied Sherlock.

The officer looked troubled, and his eyes kept flicking towards Hamish, but he carried on. "A Body was found last night, just lying in a field. We found it surrounded by a poll of blood. Shot in the head."

"And is there any information about the body?"

"Yes, he was a business man from London. Dirty business apparently, which has just failed. A lot of money was lost, but that is all we know."

Sherlock nodded and motioned for Hamish and John to follow him. He walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets until he reached the tent were the body was held. He then examined the body, taking out receipts and notes, his face becoming more and more troubled as time wore on.

"John, John we have to get back to London." He said quietly, not looking away from the body.

"Why?" John asked, noticing a hint of despair in Sherlock s usually controlled, measured voice.

"Because this business man was a message to us. His notes and receipts all have illegible scribbles on them, each one looking more and more frantic then the other. He knew that this plane ride would be his last, his fear is evident. He was fleeing from England in a hurry, but he knew that it would fail"

"How is that a message to us?"

In reply Sherlock held out a bill. For a while John stared at it until he saw the name at the bottom. A name that filled him with dread, that made him feel sick. He held Hamish close and looked around the tent, suddenly feeling trapped.

The name printed at the bottom of the bill seemed to stare at him, as if the man himself could see through the paper.

The name was Moran.

And, if you looked closely, you would see the 'o' had a small smile inside. A face, it seemed, which could only mean one thing. The First and the Second most dangerous men in London were working together. Nothing could stop them. Not the entire British Police force. Maybe two men and their son could, but their chances were slim against this pair. This pair, which had both sworn to kill Sherlock and John. This pair was... Was...

Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty.

The old threat danced on his mind, echoing through his entire being:

_London will burn, Sherlock._

_London will burn..._

* * *

**He he he! Kinda left that on a cliff hanger!**

**PLEASE tell me if you liked this chapter, I spent a lot of time on it!**

**For those who don't know Sebastian Moran appeared in the Sherlock Holmes story 'the empty house' and was considered by Sherlock as the second most dangerous man in London, the first being Moriarty. I have used him in this fic because I think he is a cool character and that him and Moriarty would be amazing villains together. Oh- and in the books Moriarty is Morans employer, but in this fic they will be working as a team. **

**I hope that makes sense and please tell me what you think! Thank you!**


	18. Im sorry

**Hello! I'm sorry this is a really short chapter that probably isn't very good, but please forgive me I have been ill all week! I have had a really busy week actually, I have done a sponsored half marathon walk, sports day, two school trips and I have been ill for the whole thing so please please please forgive me for how late/short this is...**

**Thank you for all the lovely reviews, favourites and follows this has got, they all really make my day and I love hearing what you think about this fic! **

**Please enjoy this chapter- I can't believe how popular this is! **

* * *

Sherlock had gone, disappeared again. For three days John and Lestrade didn't sleep at all. Not a moment was wasted. The Two most dangerous men in London were loose and they would stop at nothing, nothing, to get Sherlock back. Hamish was constantly guarded by a trusted member of police or John himself, in fear that they would try to catch him for bait.

John had almost given up hope, the papers were spreading rumours that he had killed himself again, despite his constant efforts to keep his disappearance out of the papers. He was a mess, and was at his whits end trying to find Sherlock. There was only one place, one place left to look. John hailed a cab and breathed, if he wasn't here then the rumours may be true. Please Sherlock, he thought, be there. I won't blame you but please be there. For me...

The cab rolled up at the old swimming pool. Where it all began. He was shaking as he opened the door, and as he heard it slowly creak open. His eyes adjusted to the harsh artificial light before he noticed the three men before him. Two of the men didn't react to him walking in, but the other turned to him, muttering words that John could not hear or understand. His face was white and scared, but otherwise he seemed calm. His hands were by his sides, but were tapping on his thighs faster than usual.

"John.." Said a completely broken voice that came from Sherlock Holmes.

"Ahhhh! Johnny boy! Here at last!" Said Moriarty, throwing his hands up in the air and Turing to face John. "I was just explaining to Sherlock here that," he turned to the man who was obviously Moran, "Sebastian and I are now together... And... Ah..." He turned and started to walk away. "Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain, and now you have two!"

"Ill catch you!" Shouted Sherlock, his voice wavering. Moriarty was about to open the doors, with Moran following him when he replied.

"No you won't!"

The doors slammed closed, leaving only an echo and a broken Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock waited for ten seconds, before falling over and grabbing John's arm.

"John!" He shouted, "John can you hear me?"

"Yes of course I can." Replied John, there was pain evident in his partners voice.

"John! John help me. Help me please." His eyes were red and filled with un-Sherlock like tears.

"What's wrong Sherlock?"

"I failed... I can't do it... They.. I can't.." Sherlock gripped John's arm , "They can't be stopped I'm sorry... I'm sorry...I couldn't do it John."

"Do what?"

"Save you... You're in danger.. And it's all my fault.." He cried.

And then he fell, his head crashing onto the stone floor and creating a large pool of blood.

* * *

The hospital waiting room was cold. John sat on the plastic chair rubbing the sleep and tears from his eyes. Sherlock had almost died, his head had cracked open and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. As he lay on the stretcher he let go of John's arm, because he was too weak to hold it. Sherlock Holmes had been incapable of holding his hand out, incapable of even opening his beautiful eyes, but he still managed to whisper.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm so so sorry..."

* * *

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